


Channelling Eleanor Rigby - Part One

by redvalerian



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Angst, Erotica, Eventual Happy Ending, Fantasy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-13
Updated: 2012-02-13
Packaged: 2017-10-31 02:51:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 761
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/339065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redvalerian/pseuds/redvalerian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>All the lonely people. Where do they all come from. And what do they do when they’re alone? </i>(This is a re-working of a story I wrote over a decade ago for another fandom altogether.  A few changes in gender pronoun were necessary.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Channelling Eleanor Rigby - Part One

Title - Channelling Eleanor Rigby  
Author - redvalerian  
E-Mail address - redvalerian@gmail.com  
Rating - NC17  
Category – Hathaway/Lewis  
Tags – Hathaway, Lewis, slash, erotica, fantasy, angst, happy ending eventually, 

All the lonely people. Where do they all come from. And what do they do when they’re alone? (This is a re-working of a story I wrote over a decade ago for another fandom altogether. A few changes in gender pronoun were necessary.)

Channelling Eleanor Rigby Part One

He felt so lonely. Achingly lonely. Not just lonely for companionship, but lonely for someone else's touch. In the seminary he’d had companionship and solitude in pretty much equal doses. But he’d never had warmth. He’d never had love. He’d never thrilled to someone else's voice. Yearned for someone else’s touch. He did now. All the time. 

He could almost imagine what Lewis’s large hands would feel like on his body. How his lips would taste. How he would smell. 

What kind of lover would Lewis be? Hathaway could envisage it so clearly. Words would stutter off his tongue in that glorious mixture of Geordie vowels and consonants, causing Hathaway to shudder in anticipation. They would fall on each other, and then somehow their clothes would be gone, and they would be revelling in the feel of flesh sliding over flesh. There would be no hurry. No sense of urgency. They would explore each other with fingertips and tongues, with kisses so tentative they were barely felt. And then finally, at just the right time, Lewis would enter him slowly, so slowly that he'd have no time to tense, no time to feel that fear of failure that had blighted the few sexual relationships he'd had so far. 

Instead, as he felt the head of Lewis’s penis gently prodding him where he ached to be filled, he'd let himself open up, spread his legs as wide as he possibly could for him, in a gesture far more welcoming than outstretched arms. And then Lewis would gently backthrust and then slowly plunge forward. Backthrust and slowly plunge forward. Backthrust and slowly plunge forward - endlessly rocking his body; each time going deeper into Hathaway than the time before. The tangle of hair at the root of his cock would gently tease Hathaway’s sensitised flesh every time their bodies met. John Thomas meeting John Thomas. And finally Hathaway would feel that glorious cock angle upwards inside, reaching for that perfect spot that no-one had ever touched before; coming closer and closer with each long slow lunge. And Hathaway would help him all he could by bringing his knees up to his chest so that Lewis could go deeper still - until he felt that Lewis must be arching up into his soul.

Lewis would smile then, and deepen his long thrusts even more while not increasing his speed. It would feel like slow-motion love, surreal seduction. Hathaway would curb his desire to buck frantically; to rush headlong towards the orgasm he craved. 

Instead he would slow his movements even more to match Lewis’s unhurried ones; clenching his muscles around Lewis’s girth as if he could squeeze his love into Lewis once and for all. And then Lewis would throw back his head and laugh for sheer joy. And looking down at Hathaway, he'd whisper that he was exquisite. Perfect.

His arms would be braced on either side of Hathaway’s shoulders, elbows locked, so that he could look down at his face. Look down at _them_ joined.  
And as he stroked slowly in and out, he would reach for Hathaway’s waiting cock, and begin to stroke him in time to his thrusts.

When they both finally allowed the tempo to increase; when they both finally gave in to the frantic need to bury themselves in each other fiercely - almost painfully - then they'd finally climb that peak together, and together come screaming down to earth again. Hathaway could almost imagine these things. Almost feel them. Almost but not quite.

“You all right, lad?” A voice broke into his fantasy. Guiltily, Hathaway looked over at Lewis’s desk. He could feel his face burning, and was suddenly aware of how long he’d been sitting silently, with a case file in his hand. 

“You look like you’ve got a fever, man. Time you went home.” Lewis’s voice was all kindness and concern.

Hathaway, nodded, without meeting his Detective Inspector’s eyes. He needed to get out of there, and fast. God how he loathed himself. He didn’t deserve Lewis. He didn’t deserve anyone. Most days, he didn’t think he deserved to live.

[Channelling Eleanor Rigby - Part Two](http://archiveofourown.org/works/339059)


End file.
